Dreams of Warne...

I'm at a children's party at a farm somewhere. My mother has bought me a new suit for the occasion: a 'gentleman farmer's' outfit, rather smart: a very traditional brown plaid jacket with bow tie. My Auntie Tricia is there; I'm discussing Fatima-type apparitions with a sweet little boy who is also present. There's a 'lady ghost' who haunts the barn- she's very beautiful, he says- who the little boy has seen on several occasions. 'She's not frightening,' he tells me, 'she's beautiful.' He shows me how tall he thinks she is, and my heart sinks a little because she's much taller (in his imagination) than I had been led to believe a 'real' apparition would be. Jack, my brother, is also at the party, and I shoot him a slightly knowing look, as if to say, 'Yeah, the kid's making it up, but he's a sweet kid, so let's not worry.'

At some later point, the group forms a circle, holding hands and begins moving round the room in a clockwise direction. My childhood friend Lewis is present, looking every inch the 'gentleman farmer', with a dickie tie even bigger than my own. He's clearly here in the hope of finding an eligible partner, despite being a young boy of about nine; I find myself admiring his front and confidence. Auntie Tricia lets go off my hand as the group spins, and part of the circle collapses, but I'm left standing.

Soon afterwards (the legendary Australian cricketer) Shane Warne makes an appearance, see here. We know each other... We're very pleased to see one another again. He has beautiful, deep blue eyes, hair the colour of straw, and a healthy, sun-kissed complexion. I am about to tell him (the real-life) story of a porn star I met once at a swingers' party, who had claimed she slept with Warne in exchange for money; but before I can do that, I wake up.